sew me up again
by blenderfullasarcasm
Summary: You're pretty much trapped between death by sniping or death by overpowered seven-year-old. It's probably a bad sign that you're pondering your options.


You're falling apart at the seams and can't understand how no one can see it. But then again, you've spent most of your life hiding the gossamer-thin stitches holding you together. Perhaps they can't tell the difference.

You know that they're safer because they don't know, and you are too, but sometimes a traitorous part of your mind wishes that someone would look past your smile and notice that you really aren't okay.

You get it one day, and not from any of the people you would've expected.

There's a small boy - a kid, in fact, because who could catch a KID better than a kid? - with a terrifying amount of skill at calculating ricochets of soccer balls. He corners you on the roof - you don't understand why your task force hasn't realized that about ninety percent of your heists involve roofs - and you learn just how creepily accurate he can be.

It doesn't take long for him to narrow his eyes at the glint of a sniper rifle. You knew it was there, and you're pretty much trapped between death by gun or death by overpowered seven-year-old.

It's probably a bad sign that you're pondering your options.

You don't expect to get out of this alive and you're surprisingly numb to it.

You keep your mask on straight, though, because otherwise…

Well.

You keep your poker face.

But then the kid makes a subtle motion with one of his hands, tugging at his sleeve. It takes you a moment to realize that he's asking about a smoke bomb - presumably, because the only other thing you have in there is sleeping gas and that will _not _help the situation.

You're morbidly curious, so you give him a slight nod while continuing to dodge his soccer ball.

His eyes turn calculating, and he jerks his head in one direction ( _southeast, _your mind supplies _, at an angle so it's harder to aim _). You recall the wind vectors for that night and think that it just might work. You nod again, mouth running with witty banter to keep up appearances. It doesn't really take much effort, anymore.

His hand twitches and briefly he curls two fingers into his palm, mouthing _'on three.'_

You...really don't have any better option, so you nod. You realize that, actually, you don't even need to fly to escape this one alive. There's a shadowed alcove on the next building where you can disguise yourself as a police officer and escape through the crowd.

He doesn't know your revised version of his plan, but he'll probably figure it out soon enough.

He gives a jerky nod of confirmation, then begins to curl his fingers into his palm.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

You're both obscured from the sniper's sight as you drop a smoke bomb - pink, of course - and sprint to the southeast edge of the roof. A soccer ball hurtles past your face and you suppress a shudder, regardless of the fact that he wasn't aiming for _you _, but for the glint a few buildings over. If you didn't know him better, you'd think that he just missed, but you know that sometimes he predicts your moves better than _you _do.

You brush past him as he's running back into the building and tap _thanks _rapidly in Morse code on the top of his head, the only part of him you can quickly reach.

He mutters, "Next time, KID."

Then he's gone and the rest of your plan goes off without a hitch. The jewel isn't Pandora, but you honestly weren't expecting it to be at this point.

You realize that you may have found your first ally in...quite a while.

Well, perhaps not an _ally _, per se, but someone who isn't unwilling to help you out on occasion during a heist, which is all you could realistically hope for at this point anyway.

...You don't really know how to feel about that.

Suddenly, you have motivation again. You hadn't realized that you were lacking it until you had it again. You've mostly been going through life - school, heists, homework, planning - as if it were your duty, which it kind of is. But now -

Now.

Even your best friend realizes something's different. You're a little more genuine in your interactions with her, but she's known you for most of your life, which means that she's gotten used to your poker face. You're a little disappointed that she can't see through it like the kid can, but, well.

You always _were _too smart for your own good.

You kind of wish you'd never heard the phrase "fake it 'til you make it" because that's basically your motto now, and you'd almost forgotten what your own feelings felt like. It feels like you stapled a mask to your face at one point, not particularly caring about whether or not you had it lined up properly, and then let it sink into your spirit a few centimeters, so that there would be a thin, precarious wall between you and everyone else.

And, you know what's kind of sad?

No one noticed.

Even though you're bleeding at the edges, even though the mask isn't - has never been - lined up with your features properly, even though you've sewn yourself back together so many times you're patching patches at this point, not one person has noticed.

Not your best friend, not her dad, who's known you since you were in diapers, not the snobby detective in your class who scrutinizes _every single one _of your actions, not even your mother has said anything, but maybe it just doesn't translate during your once a week video calls.

(You're only fooling yourself if you think she would have noticed if you two actually shared the same house.)

But.

But this kid.

This kid has somehow seen the mask, seen and acknowledged that _something is happening, something is wrong, something is not okay _and that something is you, though you don't know if he's realized it yet.

Well, then again.

You've only met him...less than half a dozen times, even if it feels like more.

And it's not like you've really had time to chat.

So…

It-

It's probably not the smartest idea you've ever had, but you think you're probably going to give him a fighting chance, since the kid's the closest anyone's come in...ever, really.

Rooftop conversations like that are a thing that you two do now, apparently.

You hadn't exactly planned on it, obviously, but, well.

You didn't exactly have a choice at the time, not when your trick's gone wrong thanks to a couple well placed bullets and you're hanging off the side of a building while snipers - two, this time, at least - are shooting at you and it's just about all you can do to dodge.

You feel a tug on your line, the only thing that's currently stopping you from splattering all over the pavement hundreds of feet below you, and your eyes shoot upwards, almost resigned to your imminent death, which is...not good.

(You're _really _not okay.)

(But have you ever been?)

But instead of a fraying line or any of the numerous other things that could contribute to you falling to your death, you see...him. The kid.

With his watch's scope popped open and his other hand ready to fire the needle.

This...wasn't exactly what you had it mind when you decided to give him a shot.

But then the kid blinks, shaking off his tunnel vision, eyes narrowing. He glances around rapidly because he can tell something's wrong, because even now he knows that you wouldn't just be hanging there if you could help it, and you can see the exact moment that he realizes the snipers are back. They've stopped shooting momentarily, possibly to reload, and you're about to take as much advantage of those crucial seconds as you can given that you have no idea what you could possibly do to get out of this situation when he finger-spells - because of course he knows sign language, you're not even surprised anymore - _H-U-R-T-?_

You sign back rapidly, _no, fine _, which is a complete and utter _lie _but you're pretty sure he's talking about physically and none of the bullets have hit you tonight so you're counting that as a win.

The kid nods sharply, eyes darting from detail to minuscule detail of your surroundings, taking in absolutely everything which is pretty impressive for a six-year-old, honestly.

His eyes fix on an awning two buildings over. _Can you get there? _he signs, skipping the finger-spelling now that he knows you're (mostly) fluent.

You shake your head. _Civilians, _you sign back, using the military sign because in this situation, you're basically the only thing preventing a mass shooting and you need to emphasize that.

He knows the sign, because the kid is scary knowledgeable about everything, and he continues looking for an escape route.

You hope he finds one soon because you're trying to keep your eyes peeled for the glint of a sniper rifle, so that you might have time to dodge after they start shooting again.

You glance up at him for a split second and he looks triumphant. _Window, two floors down, one left?_

You look, and sure enough there's a window that's been cracked open, just enough to be useful.

You can make it work, probably, but you're going to have to be _very _careful. Six different calculations run through your head in the space of two seconds and you nod. You can make it work.

You sign a quick _thank you _to the kid before cutting your line and plummeting two stories before sliding through the window, changing into a police officer's uniform as you go just in case, which turns out to be a good idea since the entire floor is swarming with them. But you finally catch a break and somehow, _somehow _no one notices you joining their ranks.

It takes you ten nerve-wracking minutes to get the hell out of there, and when the kid shows up again he says that you've gotten away even as he looks directly at you, somehow picking you out in the crowd.

You have to leave the wire behind which is kind of disappointing since it saved your life, but it's fine, since you specifically selected one with no identifying features and any magician who's worth their salt uses that type for stunts. Not even the snobby detective would be able to track it back to you - and even if he did somehow manage to, it's commercially available and your civilian persona's a magician, so you're in the clear.

It's expensive, though, so you're probably going to have to dip into the bank account your father set up specifically for your...night job, and you've been trying to avoid that for as long as physically possible.

Well, you clearly need to invest in a bulletproof vest, so you might as well go all out at this point.

(Who knows how long you'll survive doing this?)

(Probably less time than your father managed, but, then again, you've never been quite as good as him.)

The next time, you let him catch up to you because...well, because you're curious, is what it boils down to, and you're kind of tired of talking around your point since you had to turn in that English essay the night before and your English is...not great, to put it lightly. You can say _Ladies and Gentleman _and you can count to about ten but other than that, yeah, no, you haven't had time to practice on top of all the other stuff you do.

Besides, you're already fluent in French. That should count for something.

Whatever, at least this time there aren't any snipers.

It's kind of sad that that's even a question at this point.

You take a moment to strike the most dramatic pose you possibly can, because you may as well get _some _enjoyment out of this job before it kills you and it's seeming increasingly likely that you probably won't live to see your second decade. You paste your poker face on top of the cracked, bleeding mask you've been wearing since, well...you can hardly remember at this point

( - except that's a blatant lie and you know _exactly _when you haphazardly made the slapdash thing - )

The kid comes hurtling around the corner, almost fast enough to leave skid marks on the concrete of the rooftop. His eyes fall on you, and he raises an eyebrow slightly before his eyes dart around to the surrounding buildings, almost certainly looking for the glint of a sniper rifle and finding none, which is getting to be a rather rare occurrence.

"KID," he says, standing stiffly and ready to shift in any direction at any moment but specifically not making a move towards his sneakers or his wristwatch, which is honestly more than you were hoping for at this point.

"Yo, Tantei-kun," you reply, aiming a poker face smile his direction and knowing that the light is glinting off your teeth. You're a little shocked to realize that this is actually the first time you've spoken aloud to each other like this, with the air taut with...well, you haven't had to describe emotions in relation to yourself for a very, very long time, so you aren't exactly sure how to label the tension.

"...Why aren't you running," he asks flatly.

You shrug, because you honestly don't have an answer beyond _I want to see what's different about you _which probably isn't what he's looking for. You take the gem out of your pocket, making it look like it just appeared in your hand because you like magic, even though the kid clearly isn't fooled for one second, from the way that his eyes glance at your left pocket for a split second before going back to your face.

You've already held it up to the moonlight and, surprise, surprise, it's not Pandora, and you're pretty sure that it will _never _be Pandora at this rate, but you're going to keep trying as long as you're alive to try.

You roll it over your fingers. It's a pretty thing, aesthetically, all sharp edges and very few impurities, and the impurities that _are _visible have been integrated into the work of art that is the necklace itself. It's got some absurd name like "Truth's Jade" or something like that, but it's slipping your mind and honestly you don't care enough to try to remember.

You toss the necklace to the kid, who snatches it out of the air and puts it in his own pocket, shoulders finally relaxing.

He rolls his eyes, muttering, "Why do you even steal things if you're just going to give them back," under his breath, and it's clear he doesn't expect a response so of course you give him one.

"Perhaps it's because I enjoy the beauty of these lovely pieces of magic beneath the light or the moon," you say, and it's always weird to hear yourself talk like this but it's part of the persona so you can't really change it. It's just another mask you're putting on, and at this point they're so layered up that if they were physical you don't think you'd be able to feel your face, but that's okay because it's not like you feel it now. You're wearing mask on top of mask on top of mask, patching up the ones that disintegrate and meshing them all together until you can't move, much less feel, much less remember what you're supposed to be like.

The kid snorts. "Really?"

You shrug, elegantly, because you and KID have very different sets of body language. "Perhaps not," you allow. "Perhaps I enjoy meeting detectives under the moonlight."

"I'm _chasing _you."

Your smile changes just a little, barely edging into a smirk. "So you are."

You think you like this kid. If you had to choose a detective to always be chasing you, it would have to be him.

He sighs, burrowing his hands into the pockets of his shorts and leaning back against the wall. "Will you tell me why people are shooting at you?"

You consider this for a moment, because it's not like he doesn't deserve to know after helping you out of two sticky situations. "I suppose it's because I've had the misfortune to make some very powerful people quite mad, and they seem to think that if they can shoot me down from the sky that I will tell them the location of a gem that they think I have."

Which is a fairly convoluted way of saying it, granted, but you have faith that the kid will figure out at least some of what you mean. The way that he frowns, mulling that over, makes you think that he'll get it eventually, and probably sooner rather than later.

Voices come from the stairs nearby, and you can definitely hear your best friend's dad. A couple of the stitches holding your smile up snap, and you know you're going to have to fix those later, probably, but maybe not since it isn't like anyone ever sees when they're broken.

You make direct eye contact with the kid, which you've mostly been avoiding so far in favor of his body language, which isn't nearly as hostile as you sort of expected it to be, and say firmly, abandoning the mystical undertones you usually wrap around KID's words, "Until we meet again, Tantei-kun. Perhaps you'll have earned more of an explanation by then."

And you can pinpoint the exact moment that he _gets it _, that he realizes what you're trying to say-without-saying, because KID always, _always _talks in riddles, talks around the point.

He nods, understandably a little shaken, and you throw a short wave over your shoulder as you leap off the building and hit the crisp air, throwing in a few largely unnecessarily showy moves.

And as you glide away, you realize something - what you've been trying to figure out, _why _you think you might be able to put some amount of trust in him.

It's his eyes.

They're like yours.

Maybe a few shades lighter, a few shades bluer, but...

They're the _same _.

You laugh out loud, because you honestly never thought that you would ever meet someone who wears anywhere _near _the number of masks that you do, who's held together by as many ugly, pulling stitches as you are, and yet you've found it in a _seven-year-old._

A kid and a KID.

How _hilarious_.

...

**Notes:**

so i wrote this instead of studying for finals. go me. great use of time.

this is a kind of weird style for me, so let me know what you think please!

title from "tokyo teddy bear"


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